


The Drunken Soldier

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, John is singing, Poor Lestrade, Poor Sherlock, drunk!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets drunk. Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drunken Soldier

** The Drunken Soldier **

John Watson, ex army doctor and blogger of a certain consulting detective, was positively drunk.

The doctor looked squirrelishly up at his flatmate.

“Hey, hey, Sherly, y’know what would be funneh?” he slurred, giggling slightly.

“No, John, what would be amusing?” Sherlock responded, looking at his drunk friend.

“Seein’ ya in a kilt.” The end of this statement was punctuated by a large belch, and DI Lestrade entering the flat.

“Hey ‘Strade!” John called, giggling at his mental image of Sherlock in a kilt.

Greg looked at Sherlock, who was confused. “What has he drank?” the member of Scotland Yard asked.

“Hmmm. . . on last count, he had a full bottle of a cherry brandy my brother sent us, three shots worth of Irish whiskey, and about a fifth of vodka,” Sherlock mused, looking at him in confusion. “And apparently it would be amusing to see me in a kilt.”

Lestrade shuddered. “I did not need that image, thank you ve-“

“WELL A SCOTSMAN CLAD IN KILT LEFT THE BAR ONE EVENIN’ FAIR!”

The song came unbidden from John’s lips, and he giggled as he slurred the song, completely off-key.

“AN’ ONE COUL’ TELL BY HOW HE WALKED THAT HE DRUNK MORE THAN HIS SHARE. . .”

Sherlock groaned and rested his head in his hands, while Greg watched in horror.

“HE FUMBLED ‘ROUND UNTIL HE COULD NO LONGER KEEP HIS FEET THEN HE STUMBLED OFF INTO THE GRASS TO SLEEP BESIDE THE STREET!”

“Um, Sherlock?”

“Yes, what is it, Lestrade?”

“Is John always like this when he is drunk?”

“RING-DING DIDDLE IDEL IE O! RING DING-DIDDLE IDEL IEO!”

“Unfortunately, although, thankfully not this song. Normally it’s more. . . Broadway. Last time, I hit him with a frying pan.”

“Good God, Sherlock! Why?”

“He was singing ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina’ for the umpteenth time.”

“Logical,” Lestrade shrugged, both men looking at the inebriated one, singing the bawdy drinking song.

“SEE YON SLEEPIN’ SCOTSMAN, SO STRONG AND HANDSOME BUILD? I WONDER IF IT’S TRUE WHAT THEY DON’T WEAR BENEATH THE KILT!”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Lestrade, would you be able to fend off a drunken ex-soldier?” he asked softly.

“Um, if necessary, why?”

“Do you know this song?”

By this point, John had lurched to his feet, and was making his way towards the consulting detective.

“Well, yes, it’s a rather popular. . . Ohshit!”

“THEY CREPT UPON THAT SLEEPIN’ SCOTSMAN QUIET AS COUL’ BE!”

Lestrade moved to be in front of Sherlock, separating John from his objective.

“John, no. . .”

It might’ve been a bad idea for Greg Lestrade to leave himself completely open like he did, pretty much spread eagle as a shield for the other man, for as John sang the next line, he cupped the DI’s crotch, and yanked _up._

“YOW!” 

“Are you okay, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked, looking like he had just swallowed a lemon, while John giggled as he sang.

“NO!” The voice came in a very high pitched voice. “JOHN! RELEASE!”

John had done so, still singing.

“THEY MARVELED FOR A MOMENT THEN ONE SAID ‘WE MUST BE GONE. LET’S LEAVE A PRESENT FOR OUR FRIEND BEFORE WE MOVE ALONG!’”

“Remain still, or else,” Sherlock hissed in the inspector’s ear.

“Why, what’s he gonna do?” Lestrade was still feeling the effects of his nutsack being yanked on, and so he was in quite a bit of pain. Especially when he took into consideration that John Watson was a soldier who had done this.

John, meanwhile, was ambling back with Sherlock’s favorite blue scarf, and began tying it around Lestrade’s hips rather tightly, causing squeaks and much squirming from the other man.

“I thought I said to stay still!” Sherlock groaned.   
“I’m trying, but that’s kind of hard to do when he-OW!- keeps hitting my balls!” Lestrade hissed, while John kept singing, a lot louder this time.

“Good heavens, what is happening up here?” Mrs. Hudson asked, looking at them.

John paid her no heed, continuing on in his song.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Um, yeah, John’s drunk,” Lestrade said lamely, looking down at the scarf tied in a bow very low on his hips.

“I can see that!” she said, an amused smile on her face.

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock said dryly. “What do you need, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Just checking up, heard awful singing coming up here, and someone yelling,” Mrs. Hudson explained.

John finished his song, looking at Lestrade and giggling.

“Please tell me there’s not going to be another rendition,” Lestrade whispered to Sherlock as Mrs. Hudson left.

“I hope not. At this rate, he might fall asleep. . .”

“But if not?”

“Then let’s hope he chooses a less destructive song to sing,” Sherlock murmured.

John was back on the couch, humming out of tune.

The two men waited, in nervous anticipation, wondering what the hell was going to come out of the doctor’s mouth next.

To their relief, it wasn’t another rendition of “The Drunken Scotsman”.

In Sherlock’s eyes, it was much worse than that.

“How do you do, ay? See you’ve met my faithful, handymannnnnn!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lestrade whispered. “I thought we got rid of every single copy of ‘Rocky Horror’, after the last time!”

“Apparently not,” Sherlock mused. “And this is where he gets frisky. . .”

The two men watched as John began drunkenly imitating Frank-N-Furter around the flat, singing at the top of his lungs and doing one too many pelvic thrusts.

“And is this where we find a hidden tranq gun?” Lestrade whispered hopefully as John began making his advances on the man again.

“Unfortunately, no. I seemed to have misplaced mine, no thanks to Donovan,” Sherlock grumbled.

“BY THE LIIIGHT OF THE NIGHT, IT’LL ALL SEEM ALRIGHT. I’LL GET YOU A SATANIC MECHANIC!” John winked roguishly at the two men before sauntering away.

“The sad thing is, he’d make a decent Rocky,” Lestrade whispered.

“Don’t. . .” Sherlock groaned. “Please, Lestrade, don’t put images like that in my head.”

“Sorry, not like I wanted the image of you in a kilt in my head!” Lestrade hissed back.

Sherlock went into his thinking pose, blocking out the drunk and singing doctor turned blogger and the inquisitive stare of the detective inspector.

It took Sherlock exactly fourteen minutes to come up with a solution, during which Lestrade fended off John’s advances numerous times, and John had continued on his Rocky Horror streak, finishing “Sweet Transvesite” and singing all of “Dammit, Janet”, “There’s a Light” and “Time Warp”. He was at the beginning of “Hot Patootie” when Sherlock got his solution.

“Lestrade, let him approach you the next time,” he whispered in the older man’s ear. “I’ll get him on a pressure point.”

“Sounds good,” Lestrade whispered back.

“My head used to swim from the perfume I smelled,” John sang, approaching Lestrade. Lestrade let him, chuckling softly, knowing what was going to happen.

“My hands kind of fumbled with her white plastic belt,” the song continued as he wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist and began to lean in for a kiss.

“I’d taste her baby-“

Sherlock sprung into action and gently pressed the pressure point on the back of John’s skull. He promptly flounced to the ground, out cold.

“Thanks!” Lestrade said. “Let’s get him to bed.”

“Agreed.”

It took the efforts of both men to heave the ex-soldier up to his room and cover him with his blankets. Lestrade wiped his forehead when they were done. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Indeed. I wish we caught it on video,” Sherlock said, smiling faintly.

Lestrade chuckled as the two men made their way downstairs. “Well, good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Inspector,” Sherlock said, and Greg Lestrade left, thankfully leaving Sherlock’s scarf behind. Sherlock hung it up by the mirror and rested on the couch until morning.

 

The next morning came, and Dr. John Watson was extremely hung over.

“Ughh. . .” he groaned.

“Good morning, John,” the silky smooth baritone came from his door.

“Sod off, Sherlock,” he groaned, pulling his covers over his head.

“Come on, come drink some coffee.”

Reluctantly, John slowly sat up and accepted the cup of coffee.

“What did I do last night?”

“You drank yourself to insensibility and gave Lestrade a frightening image. Also you sang. A lot.”

“What image did I give Lestrade? And what did I sing?”

“Well, you gave Lestrade the image of me in a kilt-“

Coffee flew out of John’s mouth as he sputtered in surprise.

“I did WHAT?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “You said it would be funny to see me in a kilt. Lestrade did not like that image.”

“I don’t either!” John looked disgusted with himself. “What did I sing?”

“Well, first it was ‘The Drunken Scotsman’. And you disturbed Lestrade further.”

“Oh God. . .”

“Yes. You were aiming for me, but managed to pretty much crush Lestrade’s crotch.”

John groaned and began massaging his temples.

“I am never drinking again.”

“You owe my scarf an apology.”

“What did I do to your bloody scarf?!”

“Tied it to Lestrade’s hips.”

John found his pillow and buried his face into it.

“Never. Drinking. Again.”

“By the way, how recently did you sneak out to see ‘Rocky Horror’?”

John looked guilty.

“Three nights ago. Showing at the theatre,” he admitted.

“Alright. Well, you were singing a lot of that. Thankfully, I rendered you unconscious before you could kiss Lestrade. . .”

Another shower of coffee spewed from John’s mouth.

“I DID WHAT?!”

“Relax, you didn’t actually do so.”

“THANK GOD!” John picked up his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Lestrade and apologizing for my idiotic behavior last night.”

_Greg. Sorry about last night. More drunk than I thought. –JW_

Sherlock smiled a little and kissed John’s forehead tenderly. “Drink your coffee and relax, alright?” he said softly.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” John said gratefully.

_Beep._

_No worries. Done shit like that myself a time or two. Though never mention Sherlock in a kilt again. . . –GL_

John chuckled and noticed Sherlock had left the room. He finished his coffee and began to fall back asleep, hoping to wear off the obnoxious hangover.

His last conscious thought was, _I am never drinking again. . ._  

**Author's Note:**

> The songs John sings as he is drunk are: 
> 
> The Drunken Scotsman - Irish Rovers
> 
> Sweet Transvestite - Rocky Horror Picture Show
> 
> There's A Light (Over at the Frankenstein Place - Rocky Horror Picture Show
> 
> Dammit Janet - Rocky Horror Picture Show
> 
> Time Warp - Rocky Horror Picture Show
> 
> Hot Patootie - Rocky Horror Picture Show
> 
> Apparently, John gets on quite the RHPS streak! :)
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


End file.
